Shock-Suki
by Kenitence
Summary: [Sarumi] If you see something beautiful; and that beautiful thing sees you, what happens when the two touch? There is swearing and violence in here. And somewhat sexual content/sexual references, but it's not yaoi.
1. Electric Vividity

_When I heard someone's voice_

_All I thought about was the way that _

_That guy in the back was wearing your headphones_

_Hey, if he falls in love with me_

_And I sell him to you_

_Will you stop yelling?_

_I'm kind of tired of hearing your disembodied voice. _

_[Give it a body already.]_

The sky was bright; as if snow filled it—as if nothing reflected it: Without a mirror, all that luminescence could only merely snuffle, a whimpering, voiceless infant unable to open its eyes. 'Look at me, damn it'—the sky was seething, raging internally, to break through the glass of sunlight it could do nothing to but brim and froth against; somewhere up there, the air itself was clutching at something, nothing, and sliding down against the callow, empty sun.

_[Stop faking its body already.]_

_And if you leave this, what do you expect my lips to do but smile?_

Life had painted a smirk on Saruhiko's lips at that time that the sky was wailing; a wicked, benevolent painter, curling the tips of his matured lips with what could be imagined to be curled fingertips. Tch. As if. 'Life' bit his fingernails; and like a naughty boy, 'Life' refused to drink his milk, and even in partial lucidity, 'Life' had a tongue which crooned and grazed itself on murmuring lewd, naughty things.

He leaned in to the awakening boy—grass stains, green flames, smoldering at the elbows of his t-shirt and orange, vivid flames peering through echoes in the brat's eyelashes. Vivid and lewd. His wild crow. And naughty.

_And if you leave this, what do you expect my eyes to do but break?_

Frost spiked delicately at his throat. There was a frothing, pooling heat coming from the body that was trying to twist and right itself on tangled limbs. Through gritted teeth passed, "Bastard, what are you thinking? Letting me sleep here!"

"Ah, but it was Misaki-chan who wanted to watch the stars, wasn't it?" There was something electric in the edges of Misaki's eyelids; it spluttered and clung, listlessly, to whatever rage he seemed to be taunting. And there was a sharp dab of flame at Misaki's cheeks. Like a toy doll. His doll? Or not—Was it a blush? "Mi~sa~ki~" Saruhiko's lips pressed against those flames. Glittering his lips with them. "~…-chan."

_And if you leave this, what do you expect my eyes to do but _

_Break?_

Somewhere, shards of neon flowers staggered to the ground as Fushimi drew his dagger to scrape away the spreading bloom on Misaki's precious cheeks.

And the sky clutched at nothing, sliding down against the callow, empty sun.


	2. Fall

**At the Start:**

_Hey wild crow_

_Standing on that rooftop_

_There's mud on your sneakers_

Fushimi Saruhiko groaned: An ethereal, misting tendril of his breath frosted its way along to the edge of the world. Metal greeted it; pounding out a dull glare that seemed to taunt the colorless light that provoked it.

Perhaps that breath made it to Misaki—huddling against the concrete, it would have traced the life that ran vibrant through every strand of the boy's fiery, magnificent hair, before slipping, blind and wordlessly, to his lips. His breaths were frantic, as he stretched and cringed against the concrete rooftop; cuddling with the bare ground, his body could perhaps gain some of the bruises and warmth that said, 'I am alive.' But he was feeling pain, and that meant he was alive.

_Did the rain swear its loyalty to you?_

_Won't you come down?_

Another groan came into the world; this time, its vessel was Misaki. His petite frame lurched as he gasped himself out of ecstatic, magical shadows, relentlessly strangling a scream. _Shit, did anyone hear me?_ His skateboard and bat, tossed aside before his stubborn eyes as sleep had claimed him, were eye level. Smooth lines to crooked eyes. What more to his world was there, anyway, without violence and flight? They were then once more borne on his feet and shoulders: Energetic.

_I could paint your feet_

_There are many more flowers here_

_Everything glitters_

_'Fuck, how long did I fucking sleep?'_ He shut his eyes, crinkling, against the falling sun and snow. Some part of his mind, shoved into a corner, was bluntly yelling out statistics and warnings: '_Sleep—16 hours, about. The hell with the exact number. In the open. Food? Nothing since yesterday's breakfast. Exactly how do you intend to keep me alive, bastard?_''

"Ahh," he sighs, letting an aching flame ignite within his throat. Ignite his voice-box; but he couldn't soothe away the screaming. Morosely, he peered over the edge of the railing and contemplated the distance to the ground. His eyes refused to measure it. They just stared. _The hell with it._ In a slow, sleep-caressed; sleep-poisoned, stung, movement, Misaki steered his skateboard over the railing and let his body guide it to the ground. _Bastard, are you going to keep me alive at all?!_

"No," Misaki whispered, pouting in quiet frustration as the air started to roar around him.

_So hey_

_Won't you steal something?_

_I guarantee you that it glitters._

"Tch, is your brain alive in there?" Saruhiko muses out loud, pressing his forehead to Misaki's heated one. The older boy is feeble and furious in his arms, struggling even with half-lidded eyes. Out of the side of his own eyes, Fushimi notes how strangely his sapphire hair nuzzles, intermingling, with Misaki's golden-red strands—as if the two things were exchanging greetings; his body was reacquainting itself with Misaki's. "And you have a fever, idiot." Not that the idiot had decided to stay awake long enough to hear him.

Fushimi grins boldly. He is drunk on Misaki-chan, even as worry ravages through him.


	3. Escape This

There were lips pressed against Yata Misaki's fingernails, and they quaked with fury. There were tears, too, decorating his fingers as rings; dripping through the hand that was laced, tangled, through his.

_Tangle through me._

_Let me see who you are._

"What the hell?" mumbled Fushimi, gnashing his teeth against the lumps in his throat.

_There's a story that_

_When an angel takes flight_

HOMRA's vanguard was, lazily, passed out as mischievous breaths trickled out of his mouth. '_Hey, look at me, I'm still alive_'. Each movement that Misaki made seemed to pound in Fushimi's core: An interminable droning, as if something was caging him in a dystopian reverberation that no dance floor anywhere could incite: As if anything could measure up to dancing with Misaki-chan, much less breathing the same air as him.

"Misaki…the hell?" Only Emptiness fluttered its fingers, in passing, before silence once more claimed it: Silence claimed Emptiness. And so Fushimi laughed, to goad it, but it was Silence, and Silence could not reply.

_It'll smash all the mirrors_

But as the stars began to button the sky—for the night was just a waist-coat; jovial and twinkling—Misaki, tired and sore from the pleasure of his nightmares, woke up and saw the endless shadow that was slumped beside him.

That shadow had the shape of a monkey. And his hand was in its cage. Damn monkey.

Hazily, and still savoring the sting of his unconsciousness on his eyelids, Misaki leaned forward.

He tilted Fushimi's chin with fingernails that were pricked with gold; the sun stained both their heads. Everything bled, in ripples, as Misaki gently bit, tauntingly, on Fushimi's lower lip.

_And leave just one thing behind._

And then he left.

_Just one heart._

And as he entered the street, a gunshot blasted: And he ran.

[_Just get him away from the monkey._]

_Were you stolen before you stole it, wild crow?_


	4. Compassion Formula

Sorry for the wait for whoever might be reading this; haven't been _exceptionally_ unmotivated, but time does…like it's time. It goes.

Misaki ran and ran, his skateboard stumbling fluidly against the concrete. Peaches burst from a crate and burst again, spewing their juice to romance and dampen the brown earth. _Like fuck._ He realized that the sky was very, very achingly clear as he skid in mud; sneakers pouncing in the air to seek out some niche of stability. None: crash.

"Idiot Neko, why the hell are you and your fucking bitches so damn persistent?!" The fever reclaimed him, gasping off his brittle, wispy voice even before the strain's illusion strode fully around him; an absolute imposition.

_Ah, I met a boy who sang with my voice_

_I told him, "Are we able to change the subject?"_

**Before the Start:**

There was a child with round, tan cheeks that had flaringly sparking hair—invisible sparks, but there was a real bandage dangling from the ends of his bangs, shadowing the purple silhouette of some previous impact to his forehead. Fushimi wondered if the boy's cheeks felt like peaches. His tiny hands were reaching for a cherry blossom that had limped by the wind, to rest; on a tire swing just a length above his outstretched arms. Frustration seemed to spice the boy's bare toes, which were scrunching and digging him into the ground, rather than elevating him.

So he went over to the boy, in all his babyish magnificence, and nuzzled his cheek against the stranger's while grabbing his hands. And then the boy squeaked. So Fushimi gave him a very liberal grin.

_It's not love yet,_

_but if I took his voice,_

_He might sing for me._

Err…here's some time clarification/ this is the order the story goes in:

Chapter 4 pt. 2

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 pt. 1

Chapter 1

- Please, would anyone tell me how to make these chapters longer? I feel as if I'm already overusing adjectives and overstretching the plot. -


	5. Yeah, This

_Yeah, I told you a long time ago I was ready to let go_

_Yeah, you smiled at me_

When Misaki-chan got hurt Fushimi-kun smiled for him: The boy had tripped and was wailing, enraged at the concrete which had unpleasantly received his falling form. He looked ready to bang his fists against the sidewalk in vengeance. Fushimi knelt down beside Misaki and began, fascinated, to poke the scratches on Misaki's knees. They were wondrous. True blood from a living doll.

Misaki peered at him sideways and scowled. "What the hell're ya doin'?"

Fushimi's eyes widened, as if he wanted to get a better look at the world. They were the eyes of someone who knew everything, and they were deep. "You should get bigger before you say words like that."

"The hell?!"

"Stranger-chan," Fushimi lisped, leaning over the scratches again as blushes welled up in his eyes. "I can say words like 'hell' or 'fuck' all I want, but I won't actually be able to 'fuck' until I'm bigger, so you should wait until you're bigger to 'hell' people."

"Do you even know what you're talking about, damn stranger?! Stop following me around the park!"

"If you come home with me, we could just play at our house."

_And damn, I want to hold that smile high_

_ And let something bright splatter _

"Gimme more pretty flowers and I'll go."

"...Would you come if I gave you candy too, Stranger-chan?"

"Shut up and use your height! There's one right there!"

_We won't ever hear bells tinkle, will we?_

_The ink drawn queen came for me_

_To chaperone her lover during winter_

_[Yeah, you smiled at me.]_

_Yeah, I'm touched._


End file.
